The Storyteller
by emcey squared
Summary: Andrew spent his whole life telling himself stories to make up for how bad reality was. But Anya told him to stop telling stories and live. It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn’t a story, either. Anya died saving Andrew.


Disclaimer – I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Teaser - It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn't a story, either. Anya died saving Andrew.

Warning – This is not a happy story.

_**The Storyteller**_

When Andrew was eight, his parents stopped loving him.

It was abrupt; he pissed off Tucker by taping over one of his favorite shows in order to get Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. It didn't matter that Tucker had seen the show three times already and only wanted to watch it again because he thought the lead girl was hot. Andrew pissed of Tucker, so he made their parents stop loving Andrew.

There was some chanting and a spell was cast and suddenly his parents didn't care about him anymore. Oh, he still got an allowance and was fed, but all of his clothes were suddenly second hand, they never took him anywhere anymore, and they forgot to get him anything on his birthday or Christmas. Tucker was always lavished with praise and presents and adoration.

Andrew was alone.

So he started to pretend that Tucker was an awesome older brother and his parents still loved him. He'd save up his allowance until just before his birthday, Christmas, Halloween, and Easter. He'd get presents, a costume, or candy depending on the occasion and imagine he'd received them from mom and dad and Tucker.

He'd tell others the lie and they'd believe him. Andrew didn't have the greatest social skills, so no one ever became a close enough friend that they'd come over to his house and see how things really were.

Eventually, Andrew got to where he could believe the lie himself when he wasn't home. When they weren't there, treating him like he wasn't a real person, he could imagine they really cared and… well, mind over matter, right?

When Andrew was twelve, he began imagining he had a friend who liked all the same things he did. Well, the friend was Jonathan and he was really Tucker's friend, but that was okay. Jonathan was always nice to Andrew and when he was around, Andrew's parents acted like they used to, like they loved Andrew again. It only ever occurred when Jonathan was there because Tucker didn't want Jonathan to realize anything was wrong.

Andrew didn't see it that way. It felt like Jonathan caused the change, so Andrew would imagine that Jonathan came over to see him, not Tucker. Even though they never actually hung out together, Andrew imagined that Jonathan was his best friend.

After all, they both liked Star Trek and Star Wars and comic book heroes, and if Jonathan actually got to know him they really would be best friends. So imagining that wasn't too far off base, right?

By the time Andrew was sixteen, he believed in friendship the same way he believed in familial love.

When Andrew was seventeen, Tucker pushed him out of a tree and Andrew went to the hospital with a broken arm. Two days later he summoned mobat demons, a sort of monkey/bat hybrid demon, and used them to harass the drama department's play. Tucker was one of the actors and Andrew couldn't pretend anymore.

That was when he met Warren for the first time. Warren smiled and complemented him. Warren acted impressed and said all the right things… and suddenly Andrew had a crush. Whenever Warren would absently say 'hi' in the hallways, Andrew would blush and stammer a reply. He imagined that one-day he'd date Warren, but he'd have to stop with the stuttering first.

When Andrew was eighteen, he graduated from High School. It wasn't Sunnydale High, but another one that he'd never really remember the name of. He'd lost track of Warren, who'd graduated the year before with Tucker and Jonathan, and had spent most of the year in a depressed funk.

When Andrew was nineteen, almost twenty, he met up with Jonathan again. It was pure chance, but Andrew began hanging out with him all the time. It was like what Andrew had always imagined – they just clicked. They liked all the same things and read all the same books. Together, they learned how to speak Klingon in a week.

Not long after that, Warren came back into their lives. Jonathan was wary at first, but Andrew worshiped the ground Warren walked on.

Then one night, Warren took Andrew to a motel and they slept together.

Andrew had thought, at first, that they were going out to eat. It was supposed to be a surprise. So Andrew let Warren put a blindfold on him and lead him around. Andrew had thought it was some romantic gesture. Yet, when Andrew saw the motel room, he asked to leave. That wasn't what he wanted – sex and nothing more.

Warren was stronger, though, and wanted it and wouldn't listen when Andrew said 'no'. So Andrew would pretend, every time after it happened, that he didn't say 'no' and that he did want it too and that Warren said Andrew's name and not Katrina's when he came.

When Warren died, Andrew forced himself to repress even harder instead of telling Jonathan. After all, you shouldn't speak ill of the dead, right?

Except Warren kept coming back. Andrew knew the ghostly version of Warren wasn't the real Warren and that the plan to kill Jonathan wouldn't make the three of them like gods, but by then it was easier to pretend.

So Jonathan died too, even though he'd been kind and honest and _real_.

When Willow suddenly looked like Warren, Andrew hugged her and pretended that he was okay with it – that he wanted her to look that way – when a part of him wanted to run off screaming. Giving in would mean to stop pretending about everything and he couldn't because then maybe he'd break.

Then Buffy held him over the Hellmouth's seal and forced him to face the truth about Jonathan's death. The story was replaced with reality.

As one story died, they all died.  
His parents didn't love him.  
Tucker had tormented him with demon summonings.  
Jonathan had always pitied him.  
Warren used and raped him.  
He killed his best friend.

So a few nights after Buffy used him to close the Hellmouth, when he couldn't take the nightmares anymore, Andrew put a blank tape in his camcorder and started talking. When he was done, he popped it out and wrote 'The Storyteller' on it in permanent marker.

He put it in with his things and spent the rest of the night cooking until the refrigerator and pantry were filled with enough food to feed the potentials for a few days. Andrew spent the day smiling and making jokes and actually getting a few smiles in return instead of annoyed glares.

Andrew noticed Anya fiddling with the camcorder, but didn't really pay attention since he was busy explaining to Dawn that he'd done all the cooking because he didn't sleep well the night before and that it was sweet she was so concerned. Not that she really was concerned – she told him she wasn't.

Pretending to be unaffected was all he had left.

That night, Andrew took the gun that Willow had purchased when she was Warren and took it outside. They'd meant to get rid of it, but it got forgotten in the shuffle. He sat on the porch steps for a while, just staring at it.

"What are you planning to do with that?"

Andrew jerked and looked up at Anya. "I'm gonna get out of your hair. I'm not needed here anymore. Buffy made me fix the problem I caused and… no one will miss me."

"I'd miss you, so would Xander and Dawn. You've grown on us."

Shaking his head, Andrew looked away. "Yeah, sure. I've grown on you like a fungus. You're better off without that – me. Everything I touch gets poisoned, so…" he stood up. "I'll go somewhere I won't bother anyone. You should get some sleep, okay?"

Not waiting for a reply, Andrew started to walk down the front walk towards the sidewalk.

"I thought you were going to stop pretending." Anya's words made Andrew freeze. "I watched the tape you made last night. There was a story you left off of it. You tell yourself that you're weak, but you aren't.

"A weak person would be a broken, gibbering wreck and you aren't. You're strong. If anything, I wish you were a girl and I was a demon again so that you could wish torment on those who hurt you and I could give you vengeance… closure.

"You aren't alone, either. Not anymore." Anya walked over and took the gun away from him.

"So stop telling stories and come back inside. It's time to start really living, okay?"

Andrew went back inside and Anya buried the gun.

After that, Anya stuck close to Andrew. She enlisted him in helping her teach the potentials. She smiled at him more and tried to draw him out. She followed his suggestion to take the supplies from the abandoned hospital and played games with him using wheelchairs. She convinced Xander and Giles to play Dungeons and Dragons with him.

She made him really live again.

And then she died.

When Xander asked what happened to Anya, Andrew couldn't bring himself to say that a Bringer cut her down from behind. Anya deserved better than that and Xander… needed more than that.

"She died saving my life," Andrew told him.

It wasn't a story, though. It was the truth. She died as a good person trying to redeem herself and, in the process, to help him gain the strength to do the same. She saved him from himself and gave him life again.

It might not have been the whole truth, but it wasn't a story, either.

Anya died saving Andrew.

No more stories.


End file.
